


Green

by Iolre



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Amusement Park, First Meeting, Fluff, Greg is adorable, Greg likes to garden, Greg works at a garden shop, M/M, Mycroft is sassy, Snippets, So does Mycroft, So fluffy I could cry, mystrade, shameless fluff, sick!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-14 21:10:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolre/pseuds/Iolre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg has a green thumb. So does Mycroft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> I was prompted with 'green' and this is what came out of it. Shameless Mystrade fluff. Any and all botany errors are my own.
> 
> As usual, you can find updates/previews/ramblings at [my tumblr](http://iolre.tumblr.com)!
> 
> For those who are new to this, this isn't a continuous story - this is snippets of their lives, with the time passing designated in the title. I couldn't spare enough time for a proper story, but wanted to give them something more than a one-shot, so it morphed into this!

Greg yawned, scrubbing a hand through his messy dark brown hair as he walked through the door to the shop. He heard his Uncle bellow his name and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here," he grumbled. Drinking combined with a late night was a potent combination designed to make college students late for work. Grabbing a rag he cleaned the counter near the lone register. His Uncle owned a small (yet successful) flower shop not far from the University he attended. Greg had worked there since he was a small child. His mother was single and worked two jobs to put a roof over their heads. She had often entrusted him to her brother when she could not afford a babysitter.

As soon as Greg was old enough to understand the differences between flowers, plants, and weeds, his Uncle had put him to work. Consequently Greg grew to love the flowers he worked with on a daily basis and learned to cherish the nuances that comprised the plant world. What piqued Greg's curiosity the most were the vegetables and fruits his Uncle grew in the back. He wished that his small flat near his Uni was big enough for a proper garden. He had built two window boxes, but they were not nearly enough for what he wanted to do. Maybe someday he would have a proper home with room for a large garden and even some fruit trees. His Mum had taught him to dream big, so he did. Sometimes when Uni was stressing him out, he would sit and draw garden schematics, planning what he would put where when he finally had the opportunity.

A breeze swam through the shop and it carried voices. People approaching the shop, then. Hastily Greg checked over his clothes, smoothing out the few wrinkles that were leftover from the day before. Dirt stains were so difficult to get out out of clothing when they were repeatedly exposed to soil. Four people walked in and Greg froze, staring wide-eyed at them. They were - elegantly dressed was the worst of it. The taller woman was obviously the leader, sharply dressed in well-pressed trousers with a blouse and an immaculately tailored blazer. There was a man next to her in an elegant pinstripe suit - about her age. Her arm was resting on his. A couple, then. The third person was another woman. Younger than the leader by probably five years or so. A sister, perhaps? A friend? She wasn't quite as neatly dressed (fewer designer items), but her clothing was still probably worth more than Greg's flat cost for a month.

The last member caught Greg's attention and held it. He was a few years younger than Greg - either in his first year of Uni or getting there. His three-piece suit was neat, sharply cut, not a thread out of place, and a deep navy blue. He wore neat, tailored shoes that were black and elegant. His legs were long, his torso and hips narrow. He was thin yet wiry, hints of muscle showing underneath the suit. His hair was a gingery auburn - neither red nor brown, but a mixture of both. His nose was a bit too large for his face but it suited him, somehow. His lips were on the thinner side, yet expressive all the same. Greg took an involuntary step back. The man's eyes were a startling shade of grey-blue and they were staring pointedly in his direction.

They approached the register and Greg did his best to smile. "How may I help you?" he asked the leader politely. She raked him over with her eyes and Greg tried not to flinch under the scrutiny.

"We’d like to see the owner." Her voice was as sharp and elegant as her clothes. The man murmured something in her ear and she laughed.

"I'll go get him." Resisting the absolutely absurd impulse to bow he turned around and walked into the back of the shop, looking for his uncle. "Hey, Unc?" he called.

"Yeah?" Greg's silver-haired uncle popped his head out from behind his office set-up, peering intently at the younger man.

"We got a group this time. Look posh. Asked for you." Greg grimaced. "Good luck." His uncle sighed.

"Check the water system for the tomatoes, will you?" he asked, standing up from behind his office desk and massaging his lower back. "I think there might be a problem with the plumbing."

"I study biology, not plumbing," Greg muttered good-naturedly. He let his uncle lead the way, waiting a few minutes in the back room before he followed. If he was really lucky the posh crowd would have followed his uncle to whatever they were looking for and Greg would be left alone in peace. While he enjoyed interacting with the customers, the posh crowd tended to look down upon him for where he was in his life. Being known as the poor gardener’s boy with a single Mum attending a fairly prestigious University came with quite a stigma. It didn’t help that he often showed up to class with dirt stains on his clothes from work that he had not been able to clean.

It was a relief to see that he was right. The four were crowded around some of the hydrangeas and Greg's uncle was talking and gesturing. His eyes were darting to the lilies and to some of the more expensive flowers normally reserved for events. Picking wedding flowers for the couple, then. Probably not her first wedding if Greg had read her correctly. His Mum had always told him that he had a knack for reading people. It was something that had saved him several times in the past. Knowing who he could trust and who wasn’t worth it saved him in secondary. It was even more critical in Uni, being at the bottom of the social totem pole as he was. It had also gotten him more than a few dates in the past. Grabbing the small toolkit they kept for maintenance on their irrigation system, Greg plodded off towards the back where the tomatoes and other vegetables lurked.

On top of selling plants and flowers, they also had a small fruit and vegetable stand they managed during the weekly farmer's market. It was Greg's job to maintain the plants that they harvested the produce from. It was often a difficult, thankless job - people rarely thanked someone for harvesting fruit and with his dual major at Uni his time was often at a premium. Not that it was solely because of school, of course. Greg did like to have a good time. Lately, however, his friends’ attitude (and constant desire to drag him to parties) had started to grate on his nerves and affect his grades. The party he had attended last night would be his last. For a while, anyways. He was hoping for one of the most difficult jobs to get in the UK. Stellar grades were the least of what he would need to secure it.

The cheap PVC piping they used as the base for their irrigation system hung just low enough for Greg to reach if he stood on his toes. Gently he ran his hands over it, feeling for leaks. He could test the system, but normally leaks that were big enough to cause problems were big enough to feel. Unable to find any, he dropped back on his heels with an exasperated sigh. The tomatoes and cucumbers were getting too much water. It was probably a drainage issue. He turned around to examine their containers closer and froze. Standing a few feet away, watching him intently, was the younger of the men who had been with the party. The one with the eyes. Greg blinked, wondering if he was imagining things. "Can I help you?" he asked cautiously.

"It's a drainage problem." The man's voice was clipped, the accent posh. Suited him as well as the immaculate ensemble he was wearing.

"Er, yeah. I figured when there wasn't anything wrong with the pipes." Greg scratched his head, wondering if he was seriously having this conversation. Or if it really was a conversation to begin with. He wasn't really sure what was going on. "Some of the drains are probably clogged."

"Indeed," the man murmured, watching Greg intently. "You are attending University, correct?"

"Yup," Greg confirmed. "I study biology and criminal justice." Ignoring the scrutiny he was under he slipped a hand underneath the box the tomatoes were in, evaluating how well the drainage was flowing. A clog, then, in two of the three holes. Rocks probably. Sometimes they shifted and prevented the water from getting through. It was an easy enough fix and Greg had the tools with him. "What about you?" he asked casually as he got to work. It was easier to ignore the other man's presence while he toiled, although Greg continued to glance at him out of the corner of his eyes.

He was gorgeous, all milky skin and freckles. Greg would've grabbed him and snogged him senseless if he had the opportunity, but his uncle would probably have to kill him for taking indecent advantage of a customer, especially one as wealthy as this. "I start University this autumn. I will be studying International Relations, Philosophy, and Politics." Greg cocked an eyebrow as he started working the first rock out of where it was wedged.

"Busy boy, yeah?" The first rock came out, water draining easily through the hole. Greg grinned in delight, hoping the other one would be just as easy to remove.

"One could say so." The auburn-haired man paused. Greg was certain he made quite the image, dressed in scruffy trousers and a grey shirt covered in dirt stains. It was a definite contrast to the elegant creature standing next to him. "My name is Mycroft."

"Mycroft?" Greg grinned over his shoulder. "Nice name. Suits you." He was surprised to see a faint blush underneath the freckles on the other man's face. Mycroft was even more adorable when he blushed and Greg wanted to kiss him all the more for it. "My name's Greg. Gregory Lestrade. I'd shake your hand, but I'm covered in dirt, y'know?" Mycroft inclined his head slightly, the corner of his lips quirking upwards in a display of amusement. Greg beamed at him, pleased to have gotten that much out of him.

"Why criminal justice and biology?" Mycroft asked suddenly. Greg blinked at the question, his hand currently battling with the larger of the rocks. A shout of triumph and it was out.

"Hah, gotcha, you bugger," he told the rock. Setting it aside he grabbed the rag and wiped his hands clean, considering Mycroft's question. "Ever heard of forensic botany?"

"Ah," Mycroft appeared to be going through files in his memory. Greg would not have been surprised if his brain was arranged into various filing cabinets. "Utilising a knowledge of plants and their various permutations in order to assist the Yard with solving crimes. Ambitious." Preening slightly at the compliment, Greg started sorting his various tools back into the box.

"You're studying three subjects," Greg pointed out in response. "You're ambitious too." Almost immediately Greg regretted what he said. Mycroft looked sad for a few seconds before his face was back to the mask that had been there prior. Or what Greg was learning was a mask. He changed the subject. "You seem to know a lot about irrigation and soil conditions. You like plants?"

Mycroft shifted his posture every so slightly, his expression wistful this time. He seemed more open, more relaxed. It was oddly casual for a man in a three-piece suit. "Yes," he said with a gracious incline of his head.. "I am unable to maintain any, however. It is not suitable to my position." It wasn't difficult to figure out from that why Mycroft was sad when Greg mentioned that he was ambitious. His choices were not solely his own, then.

"I only have a couple window boxes at my place," Greg said with a laugh. "You might try a window box in your room?"

"I am afraid they would only die of neglect. Or die of poisoning, if my younger brother got his hands upon them." Greg arched an eyebrow, hoping the poisoning comment was sarcasm.

"Younger brother? There's two of you?" The tools were packed up and he leaned against one of the wall supports now. It was only then that he noticed that Mycroft held an umbrella in his grip. How had he not seen it before? It fit Mycroft like an extension of his arm. Polished wood handle, black brolly. Mysterious and sexy.

"Unfortunately. Sherlock is twelve and the epitome of all that is chaos." There was a wry smile on Mycroft's face which Greg happily returned. He hadn't felt so comfortable with someone in ages, much less with someone as seemingly formal as Mycroft was. It made him want to get to know him more, to find out who he really was under the suit. To find out what he looked like underneath the polished outfit. Greg bet that he was all freckled and gorgeous and - Mycroft cleared his throat, throwing Greg out of his thoughts. "Are you okay, Gregory? You have gone a bit red."

Coughing, Greg focused on fiddling with the plants in front of him. The cucumbers. "Er, yeah. Just a bit warm in here." The slight grin indicated that Mycroft didn't believe it for a second and Greg looked pointedly at the plants, embarrassed at his slip-up. With what Mycroft had read already in his body language and clothing, he would not have been surprised if he could read what Greg was thinking just from his facial expression.

Mycroft stepped closer until he was six inches from Greg, so close that their chests could touch if Greg shifted slightly and stepped forward. He had an inch on Greg in height, although Greg was broader around the shoulders and chest. Greg swallowed hard. "I know what you were thinking." Mycroft's voice had dropped an octave, deep and rumbling in Greg's ear. Greg shuddered, his cheeks flaming red. "It seems we have similar thoughts." He stepped back, startled, his eyes wide as he looked into Mycroft's. There was a salacious grin spreading its way across Mycroft's face as he leaned forward and tucked a card into Greg's pocket.

"Mycroft?" a voice called, breaking the spell that surrounded the two young men.

"Coming, Mummy!" Mycroft shouted back. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Greg's frozen lips. His fingers trailed along the small card in Greg's pockets and he smiled at Greg's expression. This smile was a different smile - tender and shy, sweet and warm at the same time. "Call me." Mycroft patted the pocket one more time before he schooled his features back into the mask he had worn when he first approached Greg. Pivoting on the balls of his toes Mycroft turned and strode away, leaving Greg speechless and staring at his retreating form.


	2. Part 2: Two Days Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set two days after the events of part one. I'm afraid we're going to start time-skipping after this! Have three more parts planned out for these two, and they'll probably be 3k-5k each.
> 
> As usual, you can follow me at my tumblr [here!](http://iolre.tumblr.com) for updates and ramblings and the like. Been a bit quiet because of work, but I'm still writing. ;)

Two nights later Greg sat on his bed, staring at his mobile and the thin business card sitting next to it. He was trying to work up the nerve to call. Work and studying had kept him busy for the past couple of days. The card was simple yet elegant, with the name 'Mycroft Holmes' sprawled across it in some fancy script and a number delicately printed underneath it. No job title, not even University student. Greg dialed the number with tentative pushes of his finger against the keys, hesitating before he let his thumb press the 'send' button. He thumped his head back into his pillow, staring up at the ceiling as the phone started to ring. "Hello?" Greg nearly fell off of his bed when someone picked up on the second ring. The voice was confident and assertive.

"Uh, I'm looking for Mycroft?" he asked hesitantly. Greg had assumed it was a direct line, but now he wasn't so certain. What if it was some random person? He had been tricked? Given a false number?

"Ah, Gregory." It was most definitely Mycroft, and Greg felt his body relax.

"You know only my Gran calls me that. Or my Mum, when I'm in trouble," Greg pointed out.

"I find that Gregory flows much more decadently off my tongue than Greg." Mycroft was careful to emphasize the syllables in Greg's full name, and Greg felt something clench and pool low in his belly. A few seconds passed before he realized that Mycroft was waiting for him to say something.

"Oh." Rapidly Greg searched his mind for something interesting to say. "Oh! Did your Mum pick the flowers she wanted?" The silence dragged on for a full minute and Greg was certain he had made a horrible mistake. What if that wasn't his Mum? What if she wasn’t getting married? Oh god, what if he had screwed this - whatever it was - up before it had even began?

"Gregory, I can hear you panicking from here." Mycroft's voice was soft, amused and concerned at the same time. "Yes, that was my mother. And yes, she was satisfied by the variety available and has picked several for her upcoming marriage."

"Good." Greg was aware that it wasn't a wholly sufficient answer, but for some reason, his ability to sound witty and flirtatious had gone straight out the window the moment Mycroft answered the phone.

“I intimidate you?” Mycroft inquired, his voice teasing.

"A bit," Greg answered honestly. "You're...kind of intimidating," he finished lamely. God, at this rate Mycroft wouldn't even want to talk to him again, much less want to go out to dinner or do - other things. He blushed, remembering the way that Mycroft had kissed him and touched him and - oh god no. If Mycroft could hear him panicking, he was most definitely going hear Greg blushing like a schoolgirl. The night was just getting better and better..

"I have certain other effects as well, apparently," Mycroft murmured, low and throaty. Greg gulped. "I would like to see you. May I?" Greg's mind ran to places it shouldn’t, wondering exactly what Mycroft meant. See him for dinner? Clothed? Not clothed? Naked dinner? Greg slapped himself in the face. “Bloody hell, I’m acting like a teenage girl.”

There was a horrified pause when Greg realized he had said that out loud. He could practically hear Mycroft blink on the other side of the phone. "Oh god." Tipping himself over, Greg flopped onto the bed face-first, hoping it would devour him before he made an even bigger fool out of himself. That happened in movies, right?

"I do not think a deity would take much interest in this matter," Mycroft said, chuckling. "I do apologise, Gregory. I will try to tone down my behavior, as it seems I have made you quite flustered."

"Just a bit."

"Mhm," Mycroft agreed. "I meant what I said. Are you able to, perhaps, spare an hour or two? I am aware of the lateness of the hour, so if you are unable to do so, I understand."

"Uh, I guess. What would we be doing?" Greg's eyes flickered to the clock. Half nine. He could easily spare an hour or two. Or three. Or all night. Whatever.

"I have something I would like to show you," Mycroft answered simply. "I think you would appreciate it. May my driver and I come collect you in, say, twenty minutes?"

"You have - oh, of course you have a driver." Greg snorted and shook his head. "Do you need my address?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Would it make you more comfortable if I said yes?" Mycroft sounded hesitant, almost apologetic. Greg lifted an eyebrow at the phone. "I do apologise, Gregory. I have access to certain resources that tend to unsettle others."

"So why give me your card, then?"

"We will discuss this when we meet, if you would like. Have you any other questions, Gregory?"

“Nope.”

“Twenty minutes. Be outside.” The line went dead and Greg just stared at his mobile. That was unexpected. In a good way. Obediently keeping track of the time, he started to gather the basics to leave the house. He changed out of his pyjamas and into more appropriate clothes (jeans and a shirt) and stuffed things he might need in his pockets. His mobile definitely. Wallet, keys (just in case). The basics. Once that was done, Greg laid on the bed for fifteen minutes and stared at the ceiling, attempting to not think about what was going to happen.

It was more difficult to avoid thinking about something when he had no idea what he was getting himself into, or what was going to happen when he was picked up in a few minutes. Greg had never gone on a date where he had been picked up by anyone but the date. Much less gone on a date where the date had a driver. His mind was sidetracked by that train of thought. Was this a date? Should it be a date? Did Mycroft - did posh people date? Finally he headed outdoors, enjoying the brisk breeze and pleased that it distracted him from his thoughts.

A black car slid into view from around the corner and Greg watched as the door opened. He stared blankly at it for a few moments before Mycroft’s amused chuckle floated into the air. “Do get in, Gregory.”

Greg walked over and poked his head into the car, a bit hesitant. For all that he was twenty years of age and nearly done with University, Mycroft unnerved him. The younger man exuded confidence, and power dripped from his pores. It was exciting and terrifying all at once, and made Greg feel like a teenager going on his first date behind his parent’s back.

Mycroft looked much like he had earlier in the day, dressed in a sharply cut, dark gray three-piece suit with an umbrella held clasped in his hands. Greg slid in next to him, painfully aware of the shabbiness of his jeans and the pedestrian origins of his shirt. He swallowed, not certain what was going to happen next. Mycroft smiled at him - it was a shy smile, the warm, tender one that Greg had seen when Mycroft had left. "You're up late," Greg mused out loud and then inwardly groaned. Someday he was going to figure out what was running his brain so he could kill it. Painfully.

"I do not require as much sleep as most people," Mycroft answered smoothly. "I do apologise for the lateness of the hour, however." Greg made a dismissive noise and shrugged.

"I'm normally up later myself. Although I do require some sleep." He grinned at Mycroft, pleased at being able to answer coherently. "So where are we going?"

"It is not far," Mycroft said with a sly look that made something flip in Greg’s stomach. Greg fidgeted with his hands, suddenly uncertain about what to do with them. "Fifteen, twenty minutes or so. It is something that I think you will appreciate."

Without allowing himself to think too much about it, Greg pulled the umbrella out of Mycroft's grasp and set it on the bench seat across from them. Mycroft lifted an eyebrow before Greg straddled his lap. "Hi," Greg murmured, examining Mycroft's face for any variation in emotion. Some tension, some surprise - pleasure mingled with the slightest hint of fear. That surprised Greg, the thought that Mycroft might be afraid of anything. "Someone gave me a favor I think might be good manners to return.” He leaned forward until his mouth was a centimetre away from Mycroft’s, their breaths mingling together.Greg nudged Mycroft's nose with his own. "That okay?"

"I daresay it might be so," Mycroft murmured. Greg snorted.

"Such big words," Greg chuckled and punctuated each word with a shift of his hips. He wrapped his arms about Mycroft's shoulders and felt Mycroft's hands flutter until they settled on Greg’s ribs. Not grasping, just resting. Oh, Greg would change that. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Mycroft's, once, twice, thrice. The next kisses were to the sides of Mycroft's mouth, gentle, feather-light. Mycroft's hands twitched on Greg's ribs and he shifted under Greg's touch. This time Greg parted his lips slightly, his tongue sliding slowly across Mycroft's lips. The auburn-haired man gasped and his mouth fell open.

Taking it as a cue to go ahead, Greg licked his way into Mycroft's mouth and explored the wet cavern, licking Mycroft’s teeth as his tongue passed them. Mycroft whimpered underneath him, his fingers finally twining their way into the fabric of Greg's shirt. Victory! Greg's subconscious crowed. He caved! Then things shifted and suddenly Greg had to fight for what he wanted, fight for his dominance. Tongues parried and battled and Mycroft thrust up and Greg ground down and he groaned and Mycroft was pulling him closer, so close. Gasping, Greg pulled back, gulping for air. "You bastard," he laughed out between breaths. Mycroft cocked an eyebrow, panting. His formerly immaculate suit was rumpled, from the snogging and the gyrations of their hips. His lips were pink and swollen, his cheeks tinged red.

"Although I am not overly familiar with what one says after this kind of - situation, I assume that calling one's partner in snogging a bastard is not a positive sign," Mycroft said wryly.

"It's a good kind of bastard," Greg told him fondly. "Thought you couldn't kiss and then you blindsided me." He shook his head, amused. "You know, Mycroft, you can just say what you want. In English. With less than 15 words in a sentence." Greg lifted an eyebrow.

"I do enjoy being verbose." Mycroft tugged him closer, claiming his lips. The kiss was more heated than the one they had shared prior, teeth and tongues clashing as Mycroft attempted to assert his dominance. Greg fought, parrying where Mycroft thrust, licking and wiggling his tongue until Mycroft whimpered beneath him. They were as evenly matched as they could be. When Greg shifted slightly, accommodating the hard-on in his trousers, he felt Mycroft's sharp intake of breath against his cheek as he broke away from the kiss. The flush on his cheeks was darker now, and Greg could feel an answering hardness beneath him.

Greg moved his mouth towards Mycroft's ear, breaths puffing over the soft, curved shell. "Eventually we can see how verbose you are after I've pounded you into the mattress, yeah?" Mycroft shuddered underneath Greg at the sound of his words.

"While we may add that to the list of future experiments to be performed, I am afraid we have arrived at our destination," Mycroft murmured, his breath shaky. Greg lifted his head, surprised to realize that the car had stopped.

"Oh." He got out of Mycroft's lap, grimacing slightly at the discomfort his erection caused. It helped to see that Mycroft was obviously fighting the same problem, throwing a fond scowl in Greg's direction as he got out of the car. Greg looked up as they got out of the vehicle, focusing on their surroundings and ignoring Mycroft talking quietly to the driver. They were inside some kind of estate, greenery surrounding them in every direction. Greg blinked, wondering what they were doing there, much less this late into the evening.

"Gregory?" Mycroft inquired mildly, coming up next to him. "Are you satisfactory?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Greg scrubbed a hand through his hair. "What are we doing here?"

"May I?" Mycroft extended a hand towards Greg, his palm upwards. Greg blinked.

"I guess." He reached out and clasped Mycroft's hand with his own. It wasn't a bad sensation, merely different. He had not held hands with anyone in ages. Much less someone he had spent fifteen minutes snogging and dry-humping in the back of a mysterious black car. Efficiently Mycroft twined the fingers together before tugging on the clasped hands. They set off on one of the cobblestone paths. Greg took the time to alternate his looks between Mycroft and the greenery surrounding them. There was such diversity, every plant and tree wonderfully taken care of. Greg also appreciated looking back at the man pulling him along. Mycroft was proving to be a puzzle by himself, all commanding in some areas and polite and respectful in others. It was an odd conundrum, but it sent thrums of arousal pounding through Greg's body.

“This is my great-aunt’s estate,” Mycroft said with a wistful smile, walking quietly with Greg’s hand in his. Greg looked at him, listening intently. For all that they had known each other for two days and only met twice, there was a contentment there. Greg was feeling less and less like a teenage girl and more like himself again. Maybe he would eventually become immune to Mycroft’s attitude. He could only hope. “She has greenhouses here.”

“Greenhouses?” Greg perked up, stopping and staring at Mycroft. “Like genuine greenhouses?”

“Glass ones, yes.” Mycroft chuckled at the wide-eyed expression on Greg’s face. “I fear your eyes are going to pop out of your head at this rate.”

“I’ve never seen fancy greenhouses before,” Greg admitted. “We have something similar at the shop, but on a far smaller scale. Bloody hell,” he gasped, the slightly opaque glass building coming into view. “It’s massive!”

“This is one of many, but I think we shall start here.” Mycroft used a small keycard to open the door. “There should not be anyone around. There may still be a few gardeners tending to the plants, but they will not bother us.” Greg nodded, walking eagerly into the familiar humidity that characterized a greenhouse. He froze. It was massive, at least two hundred meters long and another hundred and fifty meters wide. Spread out throughout the middle were ponds of various shapes and sizes.

The diversity of the water plants was indescribable and Greg found he could barely name half of them even with a strong botanical background. “My Great-Aunt was an avid botanist in her younger days,” Mycroft said quietly, watching Greg’s eyes dart around. “She is getting along in her years.” He smiled when Greg’s eyes lit up at the sight of a particularly rare lily. “She does keep several greenhouses to remember her earlier days, however. In addition she grows all of her food here, but that is in a different greenhouse. The gardeners that tend to the plants were all hand-selected by her.” Greg reached out and tentatively touched the fronds of one of the cattails. “I would suggest being careful, but I am certain you already know that.”

“Mycroft this is - this is gorgeous,” Greg breathed. Mycroft chuckled, releasing Greg’s hand and following the slightly shorter man as he wandered around the ponds. Greg’s mind was whirling rapidly, identifying the plants by names when he could and asking Mycroft when he couldn’t. Mycroft’s eyes would occasionally glaze over when he was thinking, but he would always come back and smile the same, shy smile that had made Greg melt at the shop.

“Are you done?” Mycroft asked, watching Greg with a certain fondness in his eyes. It made Greg’s stomach feel all warm and fuzzy and sent pleasant tingles down his spine. “We can always return, you know,” he added.

Greg grabbed Mycroft and hugged him. “This place is fantastic,” he murmured, grateful.

“This is only the first of many. I will show you the others at another time, but there is something I would like to show you.” Mycroft extended his hand and Greg took it without having to think about it, letting the teenager lead him. Greg followed Mycroft to a smaller room not far from the back of the greenhouse. “This is my favorite room.”

There were shelves and shelves of small, delicate trees in wide, shallow pots. Each was perfectly formed into some of the different shapes favored for bonsai. Greg didn’t know the names of them - he hadn’t really seen any, the shop didn’t carry them - but he recognized them from books he had looked through for his classes. “These are your favorites?” Greg asked, looking over a particularly small willow.

Mycroft nodded and then realized that Greg couldn’t see him. “Yes,” he confirmed. “I like all greenery, but these especially are special to me.” Mycroft was examining a birch tree not far from where he was standing. “The gardeners here are extraordinary, particularly those who tend to the bonsai. This room contains one of the best collections in the country.”

“I can tell.” Greg continued looking over the small plants. He was startled about twenty minutes later to realize he was yawning.

“It is late,” Mycroft said, amused. “We can come back again, Gregory.”

“I’ll hold you to that, you know,” Greg told him, standing up straight and attempting to smooth some of the kinks out of his back. “And you didn’t tell me about the card. I’ll get that out of you, too.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Mycroft answered honestly. He took Greg’s hand again and led him quickly out of the maze through the ponds. It was far quicker than Greg could have managed, and Greg took the time and the easy walk to take another look at the plants surrounding him. Far too quickly they were by the door to the greenhouse and then enshrouded in the car.

This time, before Greg could initiate anything, Mycroft had settled on his lap. Greg was more than fine with that, especially if it meant that Mycroft could continue snogging like a madman. The two kissed the entire car ride home, hands running over bodies and reveling in each other’s warmth. They broke apart not long before the car rolled to a stop, panting. “I feel like a teenager,” Greg said between breaths, staring into Mycroft’s flushed face.

“I still am a teenager,” Mycroft chuckled. He leaned forward and nipped at Greg’s earlobe, caressing the flesh with his tongue and drawing a sharp gasp and then a moan from the man underneath him. The car pulled to a stop and Mycroft scowled.

“I take it you’re as disappointed as I am that this is over?” Greg ran his hands up and down Mycroft’s ribs, enjoying the feeling of his waistcoat underneath his fingers. Mycroft had ripped off his suit jacket while they snogged and it was sitting somewhere inconsequential.

“Indeed,” Mycroft murmured. “I shall walk you to your door.”

“How old-fashioned of you,” Greg teased, prompting a snort from Mycroft. Regardless the two got out and lingered in front of Greg’s door, trading lazy, sensuous kisses. “We’ll have more time for this later,” Greg whispered into Mycroft’s lips.

“I miss you already,” Mycroft said honestly.

“We’re moving really fast, aren’t we?” Greg kissed him again, their bodies flush against each other’s.

“We fit,” Mycroft said with a shrug, nibbling on Greg’s lower lip. And that was that. They did fit, like jigsaw puzzles. Greg had no doubt that as a pair they could weather whatever faced them.

“We do,” Greg agreed, and then he kissed Mycroft one last time. “We can see each other tomorrow, yeah?” He was hopeful.

Mycroft nodded. “Call me.” He kissed Greg, chaste and sweet, and sauntered off to his car, leaving Greg watching him until he disappeared.

Greg pressed fingers to his lips, smiled, and walked into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next piece will be set about three years, three and a half in the future. Should be out in a week or so! Earlier if you're lucky. :) If there's any scene in particular you'd like to see, let me know in the comments and I'll try to work it in!


	3. Part Three: Three and A Half Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a combo chapter that fulfills a prompt asking for good ol' Mystrade sick!fic someone sent me on [my tumblr](http://iolre.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Two more parts to go! These are relatively short and ridiculously fluffy, meant to be snippets into their lives. Hope you enjoy it. :)

The train ride back to London was even more excruciating than Greg had anticipated. Two weeks ago he had been called out of the city on a case and he had spent the entire time gathering evidence for a particularly vicious set of serial murders. Once they were satisfied that all of it had been collected and processed, they had released him - with orders to go straight to the lab the next day and begin analysing it. But it didn't matter, because Greg was returning home to his boyfriend of three and a half years and he couldn't wait to see him.

Mycroft had finished University and moved to London just a few months prior. Finally freed from the constant train trips that had characterised their long-distance relationship, the politician had not even bothered finding his own place and had instead moved in with his boyfriend as soon as he arrived. The flat was larger than the one Greg had maintained during his University years, with more window boxes and even a small strip of grass that they used to cultivate a small garden. It wasn't nearly all he had dreamed of, but that would come in time. It was more than big enough for him and Mycroft to share.

Not that they did much sharing, since Mycroft spent nearly as much time out of town as Greg, tending to 'minor matters' in different parts of the world. Both men had gone into the relationship knowing that time together might be in short supply. Greg had long accepted that Mycroft was destined to be someone important, and every time his special abilities were requested by some country Greg hadn’t even heard of he couldn't help the pride that swelled up in his chest. It helped get him through the lonely nights when Mycroft was gone and he was home alone. Not that there were many of them, because Greg had secured a job that required its own long hours.

As an up-and-coming forensic botanist, he worked long hours to build up a reputation for professionalism and intelligence. Sometimes it involved collecting evidence in the middle of the night, sometimes it involved spending three days in the lab evaluating and presenting data so that a case could go to court. The hours were variable and unpredictable, and Greg loved it. It was particularly satisfying when he helped secure a murder conviction. Already he had several smaller departments coming to him for consultations. He had been to court so many times that he had even allowed Mycroft’s tailor to make him a suit.

The train slid into the station and Greg gathered his belongings, nearly ripping the handle off of his suitcase in his eagerness to leave. Mycroft had sent a car for him and the driver would be waiting. If he was really lucky Mycroft would be waiting in the car. Spotting the driver wasn't hard (how many imposing men were standing on the platform in black suits?) and he jogged over, letting go of his bigger bags so that the man could grab them.

"Mycroft at work?" he asked the driver conversationally as they walked to the car.

"No, he's waiting for you at home," the driver told him. Greg recognized the voice and hid a grin - the man's name was Anthony and he seemed to be his personal driver.

"Well, let's not keep him waiting." Anthony led the way and Greg followed, his eyes drinking in the familiar sights of the city he had grown to love. It had been a long three years for them, dealing with the ups and downs of a relatively new relationship while being two hours away from each other. One of the pacts they had made not long after they started dating was that they weren't going to give up their careers for each other. Greg was going to do what he loved and Mycroft was going to do what he had been born to.

The drive back to their flat was nearly as aggravating as the train ride had been. The anticipation was killing him. They had not been separated for such a long period of time since the politician had moved in. Mycroft being home was a mixed sign - he could have got off of work early or there could be another, more sinister reason. The car slid to a stop in front of their flat and Greg ran up the stairs, his key sliding easily into the lock. Anthony came up behind him, his belongings in his hands. Walking inside, Greg lifted an eyebrow. A large clump of blankets seemed to have overtaken half of their large couch.

He heard Anthony set down his luggage and leave, shutting the door behind him. Greg walked over to the mass of blankets, peeling back a few layers until he discovered a mop of auburn hair. "Hello, love," Greg said fondly, a slight smile on his face. "No wonder you're home."

"Sodding cold," Mycroft grumbled, his voice hoarse. He coughed, the movement wracking his skinny body. Greg frowned.

"Have you had anything to eat?" he inquired, slightly worried. Neither of the Holmes brothers were particularly good at taking care of themselves. Last time Mycroft stayed home from work he had ended up hospitalized, having worked himself until his assistant found him slumped over his desk. Greg had no desire to repeat that experience.

"I am not a child, Gregory." Mycroft's petulant sniffle ruined his attempt to deflect Greg's attention. "I do not need to be coddled."

"Oh, I think I disagree with that." Walking into the kitchen, Greg grabbed a can of soup and set it to heating on the stove.

"If you're making soup, prepare to find it decorating the nearest wall."

"Oh, you get so feisty when you're ill. It's cute."

"I hate you."

"I know you do." Greg waited for the soup to finish eating, dishing some up in the cutest and most childish bowl they had. When they had gotten a bowl decorated with dancing monkeys he had no idea, but he thought it might tickle Mycroft’s fancy. Maybe he would be less likely to throw the bowl if it made him laugh. Grabbing a spoon Greg sauntered back out into the living room, placing the soup carefully down on the coffee table. His partner’s face was shining with sweat, hair plastered to his head. He looked utterly miserable and adorable at the same time, framed by the army of blankets like a swaddled infant. "Let's get you out of these."

Mycroft scowled at him, huddling down further into the warmth. "No."

"Git."

"Ruddy bastard."

"Toddler."

"I will call my security team."

"That’d be far more threatening if your phone wasn't on the other side of the room."

"I don't like you."

"C'mon, Mycroft." Greg tried his most winning smile. "Let's get you out of the blankets, get some hot soup down your throat, then we can get you a shower and put you in bed. You can use me as a pillow if you want." It was such a strange contrast to see the normally flirtatious, assertive Mycroft reduced to a whiny child, but Greg couldn't deny that it was oddly adorable. He enjoyed the chance to dote on his partner, even if said partner resorted to flinging bowls at walls.

The slightly rheumy eyes turned his way. "Promise?"

Greg solemnly extended his pinky, hiding a grin when Mycroft glared at him. "I promise." Carefully he pulled away the blankets until his boyfriend was left shivering on the couch in sweat-soaked pyjamas, the cotton clinging to his skin. "No wonder you're miserable," Greg murmured, wincing in sympathy. Sitting down with his back to the side of the sofa, he tucked his partner into the V of his legs, the back of Mycroft's head on his shoulder. Stretching just far enough to grab the slightly cooled bowl of soup off of the table, he settled down with the politician in his lap, resting the soup on his lap.

Mycroft was busy scowling at the bowl of soup in front of him. He looked as ferocious as a sodden kitten. "Open up, love," Greg said encouragingly, waiting for him to unclamp his lips.

"I can feed myself." The auburn-haired man looked rebelliously at the hand with the spoon clasped in it, held inches from his face.

"Yeah, you can," Greg agreed. "But let me pamper you for a change." Mycroft seemed to consider this idea, and the forensic botanist decided to add some extra initiative. "If you don't open your mouth I'll start making rocket noises." Immediately Mycroft parted his lips, grudgingly allowing Greg to spoon the soup into his mouth. When Greg went to remove the spoon, he sighed as he met with resistance. "You have to actually let go of the spoon, love. Otherwise you won't get more soup."

"That's rather the point," Mycroft got out through clamped teeth, the words muffled by the silver utensil.

"Zoom goes the rocket, fwoom fwoom..." Greg didn't even have to get that far before Mycroft opened his mouth, allowing him to pull the spoon out. He was able to get half of the soup down Mycroft's throat before he clenched his teeth and refused to eat any more. "Well, I guess that's good enough. Have you taken any cold medicine?"

"It tastes ridiculous," Mycroft muttered.

"Of course it does," Greg agreed. "Most medicine does. I think we have some in the bathroom. Let's get you showered and dressed, then we'll get some medicine in you."

"Don't want it."

"Of course you don't. But if you want to be a big, strong boy someday, you have to suck it up."

"You are a bad, bad man, Gregory Lestrade."

"And you know you love it."

"That I cannot deny." They sat quietly together, Mycroft resting against his boyfriend’s broad chest. Greg wrapped his arms around the politician’s middle as he nuzzled Mycroft’s hair.

"You can't move, can you?" he murmured, pressing a kiss to his lover’s head.

"I do seem to be lacking some stamina," Mycroft reluctantly conceded.

"Sick and miserable yet still so wordy." Shaking his head in mock amusement, Greg gently helped him to stand, ensuring that he was steady on his feet before he slipped an arm about Mycroft’s waist. "We'll shower together. It will consolidate water." Mycroft's hand slid to his waistband and Greg cocked an eyebrow. "No, no funny business. You're sick, love." The sigh Mycroft gave was ridiculously exaggerated and the botanist snorted. "C'mon, you."

It wasn't long before they were out of the shower, dried off and tucked into soft cotton pyjamas and cuddled up on the clean half of the couch. Greg was laying on his back, Mycroft draped over him. The sick man tucked his head into the crook of his partner’s neck, comforted by their closeness. He had been well-dosed with cold medicine and was nearly asleep. "Gregory?"

"Yeah, love?" Greg shifted them into a better position. He had the feeling that they were going to sleep there for the rest of the night and wanted to be as comfortable as possible. It seemed to be working, for Mycroft seemed determined to burrow underneath his skin.

"We're going to have to move soon." Lazily the politician wiggled an arm underneath Greg, wrapping it securely around his hips. "I got a promotion."

"That's - I'm so proud of you." Leaning down, Greg pressed a kiss to the sick man's temple. "Why do we have to move, though?"

Anyone but Greg would have missed the brief moment in which Mycroft tensed on top of him. It passed rapidly, leaving him boneless against his partner yet again. "Better security." Mycroft paused, snuggling closer and pressing a kiss to the side of Greg's neck. "It will have a bigger green space, and all the windows have shelves for my trees. The ones that don’t have boxes for you, anyway." Mycroft's two small bonsai trees were his pride and joy and he often took comfort in tending to them after a particularly long and arduous day at work. Greg had his window boxes, where he grew what little he could. The small garden outside held mostly vegetables and he was always happy when he could cook something with solely the ingredients collected from what he grew. "You could have a proper garden."

Greg brightened up. "A proper garden? With boxes and an irrigation system and everything?" Mycroft hummed his agreement, the ghost of a smile on his face as he witnessed the other man’s obvious excitement. "I have to say, this is the one time I have a reason to love your work." A slight frown dampened the excitement. "Can we afford it?"

"It comes with the promotion," Mycroft mumbled, sleep thickening the normally precise syllables of his words. "You can buy the furniture if you want. I bought it last time."

"We can upgrade the bed." Greg's grin was wicked this time and he felt Mycroft's chuckle on his skin. "Yes, naughty boy, I know what you're thinking."

"No fwoo dumph."

"I have no idea what you just said." Stroking a strand of hair off of his boyfriend's forehead, he smiled down at him. "I think it's time for you to sleep, love." Mycroft mumbled something unintelligible, probably a protest of sorts, but gave up and clung closer. Pressing a kiss to Mycroft's temple, Greg wrapped his arms comfortably over his lover’s back and settled down for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping for part 4 up in a week or so!


	4. Part Four: 8 Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys have been together just about 8 years, so nearly five years out of University. Schmoopy, fluffy goodness. The boys take a trip to the amusement park. ;) Enjoy!
> 
> As usual, you can stalk me at [my tumblr](http://iolre.tumblr.com) for more ramblings and other stuff.
> 
> I will be on writer-ly hiatus from 7/27 til 8/10 or so! I'm moving 1300 miles and am not a miracle worker.

"Gregory, I don't think this is a good idea."

"Oh c'mon. Don't ruin my fun. I made you take today off for a reason."

"Yes, I thought we were going to stay in bed and -"

"Nope."

"Going to an amusement park is in no way fun."

"Yes it is."

"What is fun about wearing a bathing suit, getting soaking wet, and then riding a roller coaster?"

"How does that not sound fun?" Greg asked incredulously. He was watering the plants in the small garden, Mycroft sitting on the windowsill and watching him with a skeptical expression. "Remind me where you grew up?" There was a long pause and Greg lifted an eyebrow. "You've never been to one, have you?"

"That is not exactly the point of the matter, Gregory."

"Ah-ha. Now we definitely have to go." Greg steadied himself as Mycroft sauntered forward, the walk of a man who knew what he wanted - and it definitely wasn't an amusement park. "C'mon, love. You'll have fun. I promise."

"I'm never taking a day off when you ask ever again."

"See, I remember the days when you wore the pants in this relationship." There, the last plant was watered. Greg wandered back inside as Mycroft followed, checking on the various window boxes that characterised their larger flat. The move for Mycroft’s work had given Greg far more gardening space, and he appreciated it, especially now five years outside of University.

"If I remember correctly, for a period of time in our relationship, neither of us wore pants."

"I wasn't talking literally. And now you're just stalling."

"I am not," Mycroft muttered. He wrapped his arms around his partner's neck, leaning down to lick a stripe up to Greg's ear. Breathing on the earlobe, he nuzzled the side of Greg's head. "Any way I can convince you otherwise, Gregory?" He punctuated his words with a slight thrust of his hips.

"Nope. I take it you don't even own swimming trunks?" Greg leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Mycroft's lips before he darted out of his grasp. "We're going shopping."

“Alright,” Mycroft agreed. Greg looked at him, suspicious at his easy acquiescence. “Of course, if I happen to pick a pair that I look utterly delicious in and you can’t keep your hands off me…then that’s not my problem.” Mycroft’s smirk should be outlawed, Greg decided, thrown for a loop.

“I can so keep my hands off of you,” Greg protested.

“No you can’t.” Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

“I bet you that I can.”

“Gambling, now are we, Gregory?”

“Nope. Because I’m gonna win.”

“We’ll see.” Greg blinked, momentarily dazzled by the force of Mycroft’s wicked smile. That should be outlawed too. Regaining his composure, he grabbed his lover by the hand and tugged him towards the door.

“Your driver awaits!” Greg announced.

"I do not know if the government would enjoy knowing that one of the cars was appropriated for swimming trunk shopping," Mycroft pointed out. Ignoring him, Greg went to push Mycroft towards the car. The auburn-haired man inclined his head slightly, stopping his partner in his tracks. “I do remember a little something about keeping one’s hands to themselves.”

“What? Now?” Greg stared at his partner. “That’s not fair!”

“All’s fair in love and war, Gregory.”

“You are a bad, bad man, Mycroft Holmes.”

“You like me that way, do you not?”

Greg paused. “Yeah.”

Mycroft merely smiled and then slid into the car, settling casually on the other side. Greg glared at his partner as he ducked into the nondescript black car, careful to avoid physical contact as he settled into the seat on the other side of the vehicle. Rapping his knuckles onto the divider, the forensic botanist glared at Mycroft. The politician smiled back blandly, wickedness hinting at the slight curve to his lips.

Pulling some papers out from nowhere, Mycroft crossed his leg and placed his ankle on his knee, settling the documents on his lap. He proceeded to ignore Greg the entire car trip, a fact that the silver-haired man found highly disconcerting. Getting into some type of unofficial contract with a Holmes was never a good idea. They were sneaky bastards and often decided certain stipulations within seconds.

It was a relatively short drive to the store. Greg was careful to let Mycroft exit before him, maintaining distance no matter how much his fingers itched to run over pale, freckled skin. The bastard even sauntered towards the store entrance, letting his hips sway the tiniest amount. No, Greg reminded himself, gritting his teeth. He could not touch. Bloody hell. Greg’s mouth dropped open as Mycroft bent over, apparently having dropped something on the floor.

“That’s just not fair,” he exclaimed.

Mycroft straightened up and half-turned in Greg’s direction, the door partially open in front of him. “Hmm?” he drawled lazily, his voice low and throaty. Greg made a strangled noise in his throat and closed his eyes, hoping that everything would be back to normal and his partner wouldn’t be doing everything he could to invite him to jump him in the middle of the street. Mycroft was still there when Greg opened his eyes. Damn.

The worst part, Greg reflected reluctantly, was that it only went downhill from there. Mycroft selected several in a wide variety of colours. He tried each pair on, careful to model them exceptionally well for his dry-mouthed partner. Greg could barely focus at that point, for there were several in particular that accentuated Mycroft’s arse exceptionally. He was half tempted to toss the bet aside and tackle Mycroft to the ground, but that would be losing, and Greg was already down for the count after their last bet over dinner.

So instead he sat on his hands and just watched, his eyes getting wider and wider. Finally the politician seemed to settle on a sleek pair of black trunks that accentuated his arse to the point that Greg swore he was drooling, as unseemly as that was. “Gregory, you can’t expect to go out in that.” Mycroft cocked an eyebrow, looking pointedly at Greg’s jeans and button down.

“Er, no, I have, um, yeah.” Greg blinked, dazed. “Trunks. In the car. Bag.”

“Gregory,” Mycroft said, his face the picture of puzzled innocence. “Are you okay? You’ve gone a bit red.”

“Like you don’t know why,” Greg muttered. He got up, checking that his limbs worked, and then walked out to the car to grab his bag. Mycroft was still standing there, oh-so-innocent in his sexy swim wear as Greg disappeared into the changing stall to put his on. “Do you have a shirt, love?” he called.

“Are you sure you want me to wear one?” Mycroft inquired mildly.

“Bastard. Unless you want to look like a lobster, we’ve got to get you lotioned up, too.” He paused, trying to think about how that would work since he couldn’t touch Mycroft.

“I think we might call a temporary truce for that,” Mycroft said, a slight chuckle in his voice.

“Don’t want anyone else to get near you with that stuff?” Tugging off his clothes, Greg pulled on his dark red swimming trunks, tossing on the faded cotton shirt he’d brought for the occasion.

“Gregory,” Mycroft chided. “As if you would allow anyone to touch me.”

Greg walked out of the room to see Mycroft dressed similarly. He had pulled on a light gray shirt that clung in the right places. Forcing his mind out of the gutter, Greg sauntered over to his partner and circled him. “This will do, I think.”

“Do you need me to show you just how well it will do?” Mycroft challenged, lifting an eyebrow. Greg blushed and then muttered something unintelligible. After years together Mycroft could still turn him into an embarrassed teenager. “Thought so,” Mycroft chuckled.

“Time to go, then,” Greg said, the tips of his ears still tinged pink. He held the door open for his taunting partner, making sure that Mycroft was clear of the door before he followed. They slid back into the car and settled in for the longer ride. Greg decided to nap and Mycroft did paperwork. Normally they would be doing something - more tantalizing, but with Mycroft’s moratorium on anything worthwhile, Greg had felt that a nap was the saner option.

“Gregory?” Mycroft’s voice was gentle, loving. Greg stirred, stretching as he did so. He looked around, blinking.

“’Re we there?” he mumbled, still half-awake.

“Yes.” Greg could hear the smile in Mycroft’s voice and he looked at his partner, warmth in his gaze. Even when Mycroft was being a git and Greg couldn’t touch him without losing, there was still no one better for him.

Grabbing his bag, Greg opened the car door, holding it open for Mycroft. The auburn-haired man crinkled his nose at the sun, drawing a chuckle from Greg. “It’s not going to bite you, love.”

“Unlike you?” Mycroft asked with a cheeky grin.

“Nah, I save my biting for the bed.” Greg winked. Mycroft snorted and they walked together towards the entrance, fingertips brushing as they stayed near each other. “Aw, crap!” Greg cursed. “You cheated. You touched me first!”

“Yes,” Mycroft agreed. So caught up in staring at Mycroft, Greg nearly tripped over a rubbish bin. Instead he banged his shin and winced. Lacking any sort of dignity at that point, Greg lurched about on one foot, rubbing his calf intently. Gently Mycroft gripped his shoulders and sat him on a nearby bench. “It was I that could not resist you,” Mycroft murmured absently, examining Greg’s shin. “I see nothing wrong with it. You might bruise, but nothing more.”

“So if we can touch now, there’s nothing stopping me from doing this, eh?” Greg leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to Mycroft’s lips. He was aware of the fact they were in public, so he kept it short and sweet. Mycroft smiled at him, warm and soft, and Greg’s stomach felt all fluttery.

“Nothing should ever stop you from doing that.” Mycroft cupped Greg’s face with a long hand, thumb gently swiping over his lips. “I love you, Gregory.”

Greg returned his soft smile. “I love you too,” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to Mycroft’s cheek. “Now, let’s get you all lotioned up. Don’t want you looking like a lobster, do we?” Mycroft pulled his shirt off, placing it next to Greg on the bench before sitting down next to him. Greg dug the sun screen out of his bag and put a generous dollop into Mycroft’s palm before putting some on his. Shifting so that he was crouching behind Mycroft, he applied the sunscreen to the back and sides of his neck, trailing fingers down his back and making sure to cover every inch of the pale, freckled skin.

Although Mycroft wasn’t a true redhead, he certainly burned like one. It was also an excuse to spend the time touching his partner, feeling his skin, smooth underneath Greg’s fingers. “Don’t forget your legs,” Greg reminded him, finishing up Mycroft’s sides.

“Yes, Gregory,” Mycroft said, clearly humouring him. Greg snorted and pulled off his own shirt, squirting some more lotion into his hand. He shifted so that Mycroft had access to his back and began applying sunscreen to his arms and chest, areas he could reach. Soon they were both lotioned up (although Mycroft had started to stick his fingers below Greg’s waistband and had to be swatted away).

Shirts were placed in a locker and towels were removed. Mycroft smiled at his partner. While he had been initially reluctant, spending a full day with Greg promised to be something amazing no matter what they did. “What shall we do first?” he inquired.

Greg thought for a few seconds. “Ever heard of a lazy river?” Mycroft shook his head and Greg grabbed him by the hand, leading them off to the right. Minutes later they came across a giant lazy 8 of a pool. It had its own current, and there were people in rubber rings (singles or doubles, Mycroft noted) floating around. The motion of the water ensured that everyone was moving in the same direction.

The queue was relatively short and within minutes they were wading into the water. Greg waited for a double to float into view and grabbed it, pulling it over. The water pressure made it difficult to stand, and for a few moments Mycroft felt like he was going to float away. “Watch me,” Greg encouraged. He ducked under the water and popped his head up. Quickly he hopped up, angling so that he could lift his hips and legs out in order to lay in the rubber ring with his arse in the water. Mycroft was watching with a hint of skepticism, his hand on the ring so it could not float away. “Up you go.” Greg tilted his head, his grin boyish and light.

Mycroft reluctantly ducked underneath the water, mirroring Greg’s movements and arranging himself so that he was parallel to his lover. The rings were comfortable and big enough for both men to relax, tall as they were. Linking hands, Mycroft settled lower in the water, listening to Greg breathing next to him. The peace and relative quiet of the sparsely populated pool was hypnotic. Both men seemed to be enjoying the peace and relative quiet. Occasionally one man or another would use his foot to prevent them from getting stuck against the wall.

Greg smiled at Mycroft, noticing that the taller man had closed his eyes and seemed to truly let the tension ease from his body. It was rather relaxing, he thought. “C’mon, love,” he urged, letting go of Mycroft’s hand to pat him on the shoulder. “Let’s go do a couple water slides.”

“Can we get some candyfloss?” Mycroft inquired, opening an eye and peering at his partner.

“After the water slides,” Greg promised. With a splash he tilted himself off the rubber ring into the water. Mycroft flapped a hand at him, too lazy to move. A grin on his face, Greg pulled heavily down on one side of the flotation device, throwing his spluttering, indigent lover into the water.

“Gregory!” Mycroft scolded playfully, mock-scandelised. Greg laughed and quickly dragged the rubber ring out of the water, dodging the politician that tried to jump on him.

“C’mon, you!” Passing the flotation device off to the people waiting in line, Greg led the way to their towels, laughing the whole time. “Water slides next, yeah?”

Mycroft eyed him skeptically. “Are you going to push me off those, too?”

“I really don’t have a desire to see you plummet to your death, love,” Greg answered with a grin. “So no.” Mycroft snorted and smiled, leaning down to press a brief kiss to his partner’s nose. “Oi!”

“You’re cute when you’re being all chivalrous.” Slipping his hand into Greg’s, Mycroft walked next to him as Greg led him towards a tall, twisty-looking tower. There were at least six different water slides he could see, different colours and wall heights. A few were completely closed and a few were open. At least one seemed to eject people on rubber rings. Looking up, Mycroft was startled to see that Greg was watching him, a half-smile on his face.

“I’d forgotten you didn’t like heights,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to Mycroft’s lips. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to, Mycroft.”

“It’s not nearly as high as a plane, Gregory, and I manage those fine,” Mycroft responded, slipping an arm about Greg’s waist and drawing him close.

“Says the man who gets cuddly when he’s scared,” Greg chuckled quietly, wrapping his arms about his partner’s hips and resting his chin on Mycroft’s shoulder.

After a few more seconds Mycroft pulled away, squaring his shoulders. “Maybe just one or two. Not all six.”

“Do you think I can get you on a ferris wheel?” Greg asked hopefully. The grin Mycroft gave him sent shudders of arousal through his body, and he fought valiantly to suppress them. No use getting a hard-on in public. Maybe later. Later he could repay Mycroft for all the taunting, by making him beg.

Again, that damn grin! Greg growled a soft protest as Mycroft leaned back in, his mouth by Greg’s ear. “Maybe if you ask…very nicely.”

“Bloody hell,” Greg swore, having to take a step back. By the smug look on Mycroft’s face he knew exactly what he was doing to his partner. “We’re in public, Mycroft!”

“Details,” the Holmes said dismissively. He turned back to surveying the water slides with an intent expression, as if he had not just given his lover a spontaneous erection, in his swimming trunks, in public. Running a hand through his hair, Greg chuckled ruefully.

“I’d forgotten you’re a handful in public when you’re not all suited up.” Before Mycroft could respond, Greg grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the tower. “Follow me; we’ll do the one that has doubles so I don’t have to leave you alone.” Easily Greg led Mycroft up the stairs and through the turns that led to an ominously-named slide called ‘The Twister’.

Grabbing a double rubber ring, Greg settled himself into the front spot, his back to his partner. “Settle in, just like I am.” He felt the ring shift as Mycroft mimicked his actions. Pushing them forward, they tipped into the tube and started the downward slide. It was rocky and a large wave of water drenched Greg quickly, leaving him laughing and spluttering. He heard Mycroft’s chuckle behind him. It was reassuring, and Greg chortled as the closed tube took another quick twist, sending them flying up the side.

Moments later they were flying out the bottom, landing in the pool with a slap as the rubber ring capsized, sending them plunging into the water. Greg bobbed to the surface, treading water as he looked around for Mycroft. The auburn-haired man was already swimming for the exit. Tugging the ring behind him Greg followed, relishing the cool water over his heated skin.

Mycroft was standing not far away, watching with an appreciative gaze as Greg pulled himself out of the water. Tossing the rubber ring in Mycroft’s direction, Greg stood up, a smile on his face. “Survive?” he asked his partner.

“Barely,” Mycroft drawled. Greg laughed. “I think I might be done with water for a bit, though.”

“C’mon, you’re not even wrinkled.”

“I have no desire to be wrinkled.”

“Posh git.”

“Wrinkles are unseemly.”

“I forget how vain you are. Especially dressed like -mmph!” Greg was cut off when Mycroft grabbed him and pulled him close, kissing him firmly. “Fine.”

“I love you when you see reason,” Mycroft smirked. Greg rolled his eyes.

“Gotta re-apply sunscreen, though,” the botanist muttered, checking to see where their towels were. He tossed one to Mycroft, patting himself dry with the other. “Some might have washed off in the water, and I really don’t want you burned. You’re a horrible patient.”

“I’m better than Sherlock,” Mycroft said pointedly.

“I can’t argue with that. Last time he was sick I had to take John out for a pint just to keep him from committing a homicide.” Returning to the locker, Greg finished patting himself down and made sure that Mycroft had mostly dried off. He grabbed their shirts and tossed Mycroft his, slipping the cotton over damp skin. Pouring some lotion into his palm, he gestured for Mycroft to sit down on the bench.

Mycroft tilted his head forward obediently when Greg started smearing the lotion over the visible skin, slipping his hands underneath the hems to ensure coverage in case the clothes moved. He even did Mycroft’s arms and legs, wanting to take proper care of his boyfriend. “I don’t deserve you,” Mycroft murmured softly, something quiet and painful in his voice that sent fear lancing through Greg’s chest.

“Hey, none of that,” he responded tenderly, worry taking place of the fear. He stood up and wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s shoulder, allowing the taller man to press his head into the warmth of Greg’s abdomen. “I thought we were over this.”

Slowly Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg’s hips, parting his legs so Greg could stand closer in the V. “It’s nothing.”

Reaching down, Greg slipped a finger under Mycroft’s chin and tilted his head up. “What’s wrong, love?” he asked, looking straight down into his lover’s eyes.

“Bad week at work,” Mycroft answered, his gaze downcast. “I’m sorry.”

Gently Greg pressed a kiss to his lips. “Let’s go get some candyfloss,” he murmured. Mycroft nodded and moved back, allowing Greg to stand up. They walked to the vendor hand-in-hand, Greg occasionally squeezing his partner’s hand for added reassurance. It was getting later in the day, the sun already starting to dim, and they had limited time before the park would close.

Both men got some of the bright pink candyfloss. Mycroft was dainty, picking bits off before popping them into his mouth. Occasionally he would feed bits to Greg, who was more determined to see how fast he could eat his floss off of the stick. “Slow down,” Mycroft said affectionately, chiding at the same time.

“’S gonna disapr,” Greg got out between bites.

“No, it’s not,” Mycroft laughed.

“Int my bly,” Greg continued.

“Well, yes.” Mycroft picked off another bit and tossed it into his mouth, watching his partner with fond amusement. Greg finished the last few bites and threw the stick into a rubbish bin, throwing his hands up in triumph when he made the shot. “Feeling frisky today, Gregory?”

Greg winked. “You know it.” He took a few moments to look around, examining the rides sprawled out in front of them. “I want to go on the roller coaster, the spinny cups, and the ferris wheel.” Mycroft hummed agreeably, finishing the last couple pieces of his candyfloss. The queue for the roller coaster was relatively short, and Greg dragged Mycroft up to the frontmost seats. Mycroft eyed them with trepidation, casting cautious glances over at his partner as they strapped themselves in. Greg was practically vibrating with excitement.

“I’m not so certain about this, Gregory.”

“It’s just a little roller coaster. There’s only two loops and a corkscrew. Maybe two.”

“Only.”

“C’mon. You’ll like it.” Greg flashed him a smile and Mycroft reluctantly smiled back, drawn in by the scientist’s enthusiasm.

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Mycroft pointed out pragmatically, looking at the harness over his shoulders.

“Well, maybe not,” Greg conceded. The carriages lurched underneath them as they started moving, and Mycroft gripped the harness to the point his knuckles were white. “Breathe, love,” Greg advised, watching his partner intently. The cars were slowly ticking up the hill, pressing the riders back into the seat. The seemed to pause at the top of the hill before hurtling down the track.

Mycroft would forever deny screaming, and Greg would forever torment him about it. Next time he vowed to get the moment of absolute, stark terror on Mycroft’s face captured for posterity. The man who, even at a relatively young age, seemed to run the majority of the British Government, absolutely terrified out of his wits going down a roller coaster. Greg whooped and wriggled a bit in his seat as the tracks swooshed by, grinning madly as they lingered briefly at the top of the loops before swirling down and straight into the corkscrew.

All too soon (in Greg’s opinion, anyway) the cars slid to a stop, sliding smoothly into their positions. Greg glanced over at Mycroft and forced down a grin. The man was pale white, his hands still claw-like when he released the harness, trapped in their position. “I think we’ll skip the tilt-a-things,” Greg whispered to him conspiratorially. “Otherwise I’m afraid you’ll pass out.”

“I think that might be a good idea,” Mycroft said with a grimace. He flexed his fingers until they obeyed his commands, undoing his harness once it was released and stepping shakily onto the platform.

“Did you at least have some fun?” Greg asked hopefully. Mycroft let out a startled laugh.

“It wasn’t absolutely dreadful,” he answered. Greg’s smile was an answer enough and Mycroft slid his hand into his partner’s, allowing himself to be led off of the platform and back onto solid ground. He stumbled after a few steps and Greg steered him to a bench, settling him down.

“I forgot to do my suntan lotion earlier. I’m going to go do that. You stay here, okay?” Greg said, pressing a gentle kiss to Mycroft’s lips. Once he was certain that Mycroft was settled and not on the verge of passing out, he jogged off. Mycroft watched him go and then settled his focus back on getting his body back under control. He had certainly been fibbing about a mild fear of heights, for his breath was coming in short, jerky gasps and he was starting to shake. It was imperative to get his transport’s reaction back under control before Greg came back. He did not want his partner feeling guilty over Mycroft’s condition.

“I know you can’t tell me. I wish you could.” Greg’s voice startled Mycroft, who jolted, eyes wide. Shifting Mycroft slightly, Greg pulled him into his lap so he could hold the taller man, nuzzling him gently. Mycroft allowed his breathing to slow, his arms wrapped lazily about his lover. Greg was correct in that his odd behavior was partially due to stress from work. His other concern had been that the silver-haired man had been acting just a bit off lately, and Mycroft, insecure at times about the normality of his relationship, had not been able to figure out why.

Greg let a hand trail up and down Mycroft’s spine, feeling the politician relax underneath his gentle caress. Mycroft’s breathing had evened out and returned to normal. He pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. “Better now, love?” Greg asked softly.

“Yes,” Mycroft answered with a smile. It really was. Greg had a knack for making the most complicated emotional situations bearable to someone like Mycroft, who had never had to sort through the complex tangle of his feelings before.

“Good.” Greg gently ran a hand through Mycroft’s hair, leaning down to press a final kiss to his partner’s mouth before standing up. “One last ride?” Reluctantly Mycroft nodded, trying to not let his hesitation show in his body language. He obviously didn’t do a good enough job, for Greg took his hand and squeezed it, reassuring. “This won’t be nearly as bad.”

“I trust you.” Mycroft allowed Greg to lead him, the implication in his words barely stopping Greg from pulling him closer for a deeper kiss. Mycroft’s ability to trust him had been such a hard-won battle that Greg never got over the heady feeling that he encountered every time he was reminded of it.

The walk to the ferris wheel was conducted in silence, hands swaying gently between the men as the ride got closer. It was a relatively upscale ferris wheel, bubble-shaped carriages instead of benches. There were benches on each side, enough for four people, although only two seemed to get into each bubble. It wasn’t long before they were up. Greg nudged Mycroft onto one of the benches before taking the spot opposite him.

The politician looked through the window. His stomach lurched slightly as the ground disappeared beneath them, but he was pleased to discover that it wasn’t nearly as bad as he anticipated. Turning back to his partner, he noticed that Greg was watching him with an unusually fond look. The strength of the emotion Greg had turned in his direction sent little shivers of pleasure through Mycroft. He would never get used to the fact that this kind, gentle man actually cared about him, and loved him. It was a miracle that he cherished each and every day.

“We met just about eight years ago.” Greg’s quiet, thoughtful voice broke the silence as their carriage came to a halt at the top of the ferris wheel. His gaze back outside, Mycroft hummed his agreement, his attention elsewhere. “You were a sassy little bastard.” Mycroft turned to face Greg, the corner of his lips quirking up.

“I prefer assertive,” he chided, amused.

“Sassy,” Greg shot back, startling a laugh out of Mycroft. “I thought you were sexy as hell even then. Especially when I realized I had no idea what I was getting into.” He shook his head, a slight smile on his lips. “It’s been a wonderful eight years, you know.” Mycroft couldn’t help but smile this time. It had been rough at times, but the past near decade of his life had been better than he ever could have imagined.

“Why are we stopped?” Mycroft inquired absently, his eyes flickering back to the steady ground far beneath them. He turned back to the man in front of him when Greg slid off of the bench and onto his knees, hands resting on the knobs of Mycroft’s kneecaps. He suddenly couldn’t breathe, and he knew his eyes were wide as saucers, but he had lost control of everything. “What are you doing?” His voice sounded robotic, as if coming from far away.

“Mycroft, love. I love you, and I can’t imagine the rest of my life without you.” Greg’s hand dug in his pocket and Mycroft made a quiet, strangled noise in the back of his throat. He tried to say something more intelligible and failed as Greg pulled out a small jewelry box. The forensic botanist opened it, revealing two nestled platinum bands. They were simple, nothing flashy, but solid, something that could stand up to abuse if required without bending. “Will you marry me?”

For several long seconds Mycroft stared. His mind had crashed and was taking an abnormally long time to come back online. It was abhorrent. “But - but what about Budapest?”

“Inconsequential,” Greg answered immediately.

“There was that thing in Dublin…”

“Mycroft.”

“Then that situation in Cairo.”

“Mycroft.”

“Or that occasion in Washington.”

“Are you seriously trying to talk me out of proposing to you?”

“I just want to ascertain if you are - proposing such an endeavour with all pertinent facts sufficiently examined.”

“Trust me, love. I’ve spent eight years examining the particularly pertinent facts before deciding to embark on such a mission.”

Mycroft blinked a few times, staring at Greg as if he was surprised that he was still there when he opened his eyes. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes.” Greg nearly jumped on him before Mycroft could get his arms around his partner - no, fiance now. Lifting his head back slightly Mycroft kissed Greg gently and then with increasing urgency, tongues lazy as they snogged for a few minutes. “Why here?” Mycroft asked, breathless.

Greg pulled back, lips red from kissing and hair mussed. He pointed to some twinkling lights on the edge of their field of vision. “See that?”

Mycroft nodded his agreement, squinting slightly in an attempt to discern more details. It seemed to be an estate of some sort, on the edge of London - oh.

“It’s where we had our first date.” Greg pressed a gentle kiss to Mycroft’s lips again. “It seemed fitting, to ask you to marry me in its shadow.”

“Why, Gregory,” Mycroft murmured, lips trailing down the curve of Greg’s jaw. “I had no idea you were so frightfully sentimental.”

Greg chuckled and pressed a kiss to his lover’s cheek. “Does this mean it will be easier to get you to come to an amusement park from now on?”

Mycroft snorted elegantly and nibbled on Greg’s earlobe. “Not a chance. Let’s go home.”

Greg rapped a peculiar tune on the side of the carriage and immediately the carriage started moving. He caught Mycroft’s curious gaze. “The guy who runs this ride, I helped him out, a couple years ago.”

“Ah,” Mycroft exhaled, arms loosely wrapped about his fiance. “I see.”

“Yes,” Greg said simply. Gently he reached for Mycroft’s hand and showed him the simple band. Inside was a small engraving. ‘We bend, but do not break. MH & GL’ Sliding the ring onto the proper finger of Mycroft’s hand, he mirrored the movement with his own. “The engravings match,” he assured his fiance. “I made sure.”

“They’re perfect.” Mycroft kissed Greg again, ignoring the startled laugh of the ride operator as they came to a halt at the bottom. Greg took his hand and tugged him out of the carriage, shooting a thumbs-up to the operator as they passed him. Mycroft took charge, practically dragging him to their lockers to retrieve their few personal items.

“Eager, aren’t you?” Greg said with a laugh.

“I’ve been waiting all day to take you to bed,” Mycroft answered saucily, slipping a hand down to grasp Greg’s arse.

“Home we go, then, husband-to-be.”

“After you, Gregory.”

“You ruined my fun.”

“I can call you husband when we’re married. Into the car, or no sex.”

“You wouldn’t actually.”

“No, I wouldn’t. In the car, yes I would.”

“Aha. I see. I’ll go first.”

“I would be honoured.” Mycroft slid in after his fiance, settling in for what would really be a lovely car ride home, followed by a lovely evening together.


	5. Twenty Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last bit of this for now...set twenty years after they met. Moar fluff. Thanks so much for following along with all of this, guys! I hope you like this!
> 
> You'll find more stuff of mine at [my tumblr](http://iolre.tumblr.com). Should have a new Mystrade going up in the next month!

“To our tenth anniversary,” Greg declared, clinking glasses with his husband. Mycroft’s lips held the slightest twitch of amusement, but obediently he acquiesced, tapping his drink against Greg’s.

“As far as I am concerned, Gregory, every day with you is one for celebration,” Mycroft said, his voice laden with the tone of an oft-repeated argument.

“Still!” Greg pointed out. “Ten years is a long time.”

“It’s been nearly twenty since we met,” Mycroft responded, sipping his wine before placing the glass back on the table. They were sitting outside of their small villa, on the ledge overlooking Greg’s garden and orchards.

“And five since we moved here,” Greg added, a smile coming unbidden to his lips as his eyes flickered to the wide green expanse that surrounded their house. “The apples might give us their first harvest this year. Not much, mind you, but.”

“I can’t wait for the peaches to come in,” Mycroft mused, cutting off another piece of his dinner and eating it carefully. “Nor the cherries.”

“The cherries are the longest,” Greg agreed, although the gaze he cut in the orchard’s direction was proud. He didn’t always have a ton of time to devote to his garden, but he tried to take on as much of the hands-on work as the gardeners would let him. He had become one of the most well-known forensic botanists in the world, leaving him in high demand for some of the most complex murder cases the various departments encountered. While it was amazing by itself, it did not always leave much time for him to stay home with his husband and enjoy what they had built together.

The dinner was concluded in a comfortable quiet, the two men basking in just spending time with each other. Greg drank the last dregs of wine from his glass and watched Mycroft pat his mouth politely with his napkin. Mycroft caught him looking and smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips. “Tomorrow?” Greg lifted an eyebrow at Mycroft, questioning.

“Yes,” the politician answered, regretful. “I’ll be gone approximately two weeks.”

“It’s not actually bad timing,” Greg mused. “I have the Arrow case, and testimony, and I’m sure new things will come up.”

“Sherlock was involved with that case, wasn’t he?” Greg’s snort was all the answer Mycroft needed.

“And John promised him two weeks working with me on all of my cases as an anniversary present,” Greg groaned. “My poor laboratory.”

“I’m certain it will all be fine,” Mycroft said, his voice falsely cheerful. He barely concealed a smile at the scowl his partner shot his direction. “I will ensure that the proper channels are consulted and that his involvement will be sanctioned, of course.”

“Let me guess,” Greg drawled. “You have their numbers on speed dial.”

“What would you expect otherwise, with Sherlock as a brother?” Mycroft shook his head slightly, this time allowing the smile to curve his lips. “I have many numbers on speed dial for him.”

Greg snorted, pushing his chair back and standing up. He wiggled his fingers at Mycroft, indicating that his partner should join him. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Mycroft stood and walked to the small box that controlled the lights in their greenery, pressing the combination that would turn on the low lighting. When they had the time and it was just the two of them, Greg liked to go for walks in the false twilight. Joining his partner he twined their hands together, letting Greg lead him off the platform and onto the springy grass.

Both men were dressed for comfort instead of work. Greg was dressed in jeans and a shirt that (in Mycroft’s opinion) clung nicely in the right places. It had taken Greg years of coaxing, but he had finally gotten Mycroft to wear something other than suits when it was just the two of them. He, too, was in jeans, pairing it with a button up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Greg was barefoot, for he enjoyed the feel of the grass underneath his feet. Mycroft, however, was not quite that free and was properly shod.

“I still can’t believe this is ours,” Greg murmured, his voice reverent as his eyes swept and took in the large trees they walked through. He had always dreamt of having an expansive garden, even flirted with the idea of having an orchard. Never once had he thought that those dreams would become a reality, much less that what he would end up with would defy any of his expectations.

“What do you mean?” Mycroft asked absently, tilting his head slightly to look at his partner. Greg stopped, taking a moment to pull Mycroft close so that they were flush against each other.

“For one, you,” Greg told him dryly, stretching up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “I never thought, that day you walked into my uncle’s shop, that things would end up like this.”

“Gregory, despite what you think, I have no idea what you’re going on about.” Despite his amused tone, Mycroft leaned down and nipped gently at Greg’s neck, seeming pleased by the way the botanist shivered underneath him. “Do explain yourself.”

“Mycroft, you’re distracting me,” Greg huffed, a grin making his way onto his face despite his offended tone.

“I daresay that’s what I’m here for,” Mycroft retorted, pressing his hips against his husband’s before he let go and tugged on their twined fingers.

“Oh, so that’s why I married you? To distract me?” Greg humoured him with a grin, squeezing his hand.

“That and I’m an absolutely fantastic shag.” Mycroft winked, drawing a snort from Greg.

“It only took me six years to get you to say that.”

“Six and a quarter,” Mycroft corrected.

“It was better than what you had been saying.”

“Indeed. Far better than extolling your claims at - ah, what was it. Making the ‘beasts with two backs’, I do believe.”

“Please don’t.”

“Ah, yes. I promised to never say that again.”

“You made me beg.”

“I do remember quite a bit of begging that night. Not necessarily about terminology, however.”

“Bastard.”

“Possibly.”

Greg laughed and pulled Mycroft close, pushing him against a tree and kissing him. Absentmindedly part of Mycroft noticed that it was one of their cherry trees and was immediately able to pinpoint their exact location in the orchard. Slipping a hand into Greg’s hair he tugged gently, taking control of the kiss as they snogged lazily, surrounded by the greenery of the botanist’s dreams. It was late enough at night that none of their gardening staff would be around - Mycroft often gave them some time off when he knew he and Greg would be around for longer periods.

“I love you, you know,” Greg murmured against his lips, moving lazily within the constraints of the hand in his hair. Mycroft shifted so that his hand was cradling Greg’s head, stealing soft, gentle kisses now.

“I love you too,” he whispered, words sneaking out between presses of his lips against Greg’s. He felt Greg’s arms tighten around him and rejoiced in the fact that Greg knew just how difficult it had been initially for him to say those words. It had been a challenge, and even now Mycroft marveled at how long they had been together.

“I hate it when you go away sometimes.” Greg lifted a hand to cradle Mycroft’s face, eyes ender. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Mycroft admitted. “But I know you’ll be here when I come back.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you will come back,” Greg said quietly. Mycroft said nothing, his expression turning the slightest bit sad. He hid nothing from his partner, for there was no need to. Greg knew how dangerous his job could get, knew how bad these missions had gone in the past. It was rare that he voiced genuine concern.

“Always,” Mycroft replied firmly. His eyes bore into his husband’s, fierce. “Always.”

There was a slight flicker of noise and Greg snorted, his gaze drawn to a dark corner of the orchard. “I should fire him,” Mycroft muttered.

“Nope,” Greg corrected. “We had this discussion already. No firing just because I caught them. I’ve gotten much better about finding your security team.”

“Ah, there is a reason my security team adores you.”

“Within reason, of course.”

“Of course,” Mycroft agreed. Greg laughed, the mood lightening as they continued walking. Soon they arrived at the greenhouse that contained the majority of Mycroft’s collection of bonsai as well as the more sensitive indoor plants that Greg enjoyed maintaining in his free time. “I have something to show you,” Mycroft said quietly. Greg looked at him a slight frown on his face. “It’s a good thing, I promise,” Mycroft laughed.

Drawing a tie from his back pocket, Mycroft slid it around Greg’s eyes. “Just for a bit,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of Greg’s head as he tied the blindfold. Gently he walked Greg into the greenhouse, careful to maneuver to the room he had prepared especially for this. Let Greg think that Mycroft forgot their tenth anniversary. In reality, he had spent the past several years preparing the surprise he was about to bestow upon his husband.

He pushed the door open and let Greg walk a few paces in. “Close your eyes.” Greg nodded once they were closed, and Mycroft slid the tie off of his face. “Open your eyes.”

The forensic botanist looked around and then gasped, his eyes widening as his gaze flickered between his partner and what they were standing in front of. There were shelves at slightly above waist level surrounding them. On the shelves stood various bonsai. He could name the shapes, although he wasn’t an expert, but what caught his attention was what the trees were. “Mycroft, these are fruit trees.” He turned to look at his partner, his eyes wide with astonishment.

“Yes,” Mycroft said pleasantly. “One of each variety. They may not bear a lot of fruit, but I rather thought you’d appreciate the sentiment.”

“But - Mycroft, this must have taken you years.”

“Yes.” He tilted his head in Greg’s direction.

“Years,” Greg said, stressing the word.

“Yes,” Mycroft responded mildly, not seeing the correlation. “I felt it prudent to start ahead of time.”

“How long?”

“Six years.”

“But six years ago - six years ago…”

“Yes.”

“I kicked you out.”

“We hit a bit of a rough patch, yes.”

“I swore at you.”

“Do I need to continue repeating myself?”

“Yes?” Mycroft lifted an eyebrow at Greg’s question.

“Gregory, I had the utmost faith in that we would work things out. I trust you with far more than I trust anyone else. I do hope you realize that.”

“I just - I didn’t…Mycroft,” Greg said, desperately trying to find the words he wanted. Finally he drew Mycroft to him, trying to convey his feelings through a kiss. He felt Mycroft stir underneath him, matching his ardour. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” the politician replied smoothly, smiling at Greg’s reaction. “I did hope you would enjoy it.”

“You did all the work yourself, didn’t you?” Greg pulled away from his husband, moving closer to the trees to give them a more thorough examination. “I recognise the way you cut and shape the trees. It has your handiwork all over it.”

“Although my gardeners are rather good at emulating my style at points, I am afraid that you are correct. I was careful, however, to ensure that the trees did not suffer while I was gone for extended periods. I had an expert in fruit trees come manage their care while I was away,” Mycroft said, watching Greg examine each tree. The botanist’s hands were gentle as they trailed over the trunks, his eyes wide with awe and appreciation.

“I - I didn’t get you anything nearly as nice as this,” Greg said finally, sounding a little heartbroken.

“I don’t need anything,” Mycroft said firmly. “It is as I said earlier, Gregory. Every day I spent with you is deserving of celebration.”

“But…”

“If you so desire, you may present me with a gift of your choosing at any time,” Mycroft said smoothly. “For now, all I would like is to take you to bed.”

“God, yes.” Greg grinned at his husband and hugged him. “This is brilliant, love. Amazing.”

“You sound like John,” Mycroft said with a faint wrinkle of his nose. “Not sexy.”

“I can’t believe you just said that.” Shaking his head, Greg grabbed Mycroft’s hand and dragged him out of the greenhouse. “I’m going to make you pay for that.”

“I daresay I might enjoy that, Gregory.”

“I’ll bet. No, stop doing that! Mycroft!”

“Stop doing what?”

“You can’t pull off that innocent look. Bastard. I’m following you this time.”

“I’m hurt that you don’t trust me to keep my hands to myself.”

“Git.”

“After you, dearest.”

“We’ll see about that.”


End file.
